


Cadence

by sarahgene12



Series: Berceuse, Op. 57 [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV), Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Bittersweet, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crossword Puzzles, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Unrequited Crush, but i had to write it, this is kinda cheesy maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: James Hathaway put on a brave face to see Robbie and Laura off. He plans to spend the afternoon alone with his own self-pity, but the universe has a trick or two up its sleeve. Good thing he studied Latin.





	

James paused at the street corner. He tossed away the last remnants of his cigarette, scowling derisively in the bright afternoon sun. He hated that he felt so miserable. He was used to misery, wore it like a favorite coat most days, especially recently. 

What he wasn’t accustomed to, however, was this particular kind of sadness. Half an hour ago, he’d seen Robert and Laura off at the airport. A completely routine task, almost dull in its triteness; except this time, he wasn’t to see either of them for six months. 

He wouldn’t admit it to another soul, but he already missed Robbie. Laura too, of course, but he’d felt more of a tolerant camaraderie with the old inspector. It was having someone to share a drink with at the end of the day, which he would miss the most. Having someone poke and prod, ask him if he was sleeping enough, eating enough, smoking less. It didn’t matter if he heeded the advice or not (the latter was much more likely); it was nice to know someone cared enough to ask. 

Crossing the road, he zeroed in on an empty bench outside the Calendar. A familiar spot. It was probably rubbing salt in the proverbial wound, but James sat anyway, stretching his long legs out as far as he pleased, and sighing heavily. He lit another cigarette. 

“Sorry, is this seat taken?” 

James looked up from staring at his shoes. He squinted against the sunlight, studying the uninvited newcomer. He was quite young, most likely a student. He stood quite confidently, with his feet apart, and hands clasped high and tight behind his back—most unlike any student James had ever known. And he met Hathaway’s eye straight on, smiling just a little. 

James indicated the seat beside him with a jerk of his head. “It’s a mostly free country. Help yourself.” He didn’t really mean it, of course, but he hadn’t the energy for an argument. 

The stranger sat, muttering a quick and quiet “Thank you.” To Hathaway’s relief, he’d brought a paper, and took to tapping the crossword section quite sternly with his pen just a second or two after he’d sat down. 

James concentrated on his cigarette, occasionally sneaking a glance at his silent companion. Upon second inspection, he looked even younger, peppered with freckles, and he wore his hair longish and mussed; Hathaway wondered bitterly how many girls had tousled those curls and laughed. He looked bookish but not entirely unapproachable, and it was likely he’d been handled in such a way by at least one or two. 

He’d only just made up his mind to find another bench on which to wallow in self-pity when the young stranger pushed the newspaper into his face, and asked in a rather demanding voice, “I’m having a bit of trouble with the 14 down. Fancy a go?”

James bristled, nearly in a mood enough to tell this young man where to stuff his puzzle. “You know, these really aren’t my thing, perhaps you’d better try another bench. Sorry,” he added, smiling thinly. He turned his gaze pointedly back to his shoes. To his immediate satisfaction, the young man drew the paper away, and sniffed. 

But he didn’t leave. “It says, ‘Take in bachelor? It could do’. I’ve nearly finished with the rest. What do you think?”  
Hathaway dropped his cigarette, stomped it, and exhaled forcefully. “Look, any other time I’d be happy to help, but I’m really not in the mood at the moment. I don’t mean to be rude, but I just want to be left alone.” He made sure to hold the other man’s gaze as he said this. 

The curly-headed puzzler responded by offering him the paper again. “I understand. Just take one look, and if you don’t get it, I’ll be on my way. Can’t be helped.” He was smiling again, his eyes sparking blue. 

Feeling somewhere next to murderous, Hathaway took the folded newspaper and studied the 14 down. He frowned, feeling the other man’s eyes burning the top of his head. 

“Well, I think for ‘Bachelor’ you need ‘BA’, and they literally mean for ‘take’ to be inside the word, I think, so… receive is another word for ‘take’, isn’t it? And in Latin that’s—” He paused for a moment, patting each of his pockets for a pen. Finding one, he scribbled three letters into their designated boxes. Feeling rather smug, he flipped the page back at his companion.

“‘B-R-A’? That’s very good. Well done, you!” There was still a note of raillery in the young man’s voice, but James took the praise anyway. 

“It’s fairly simple Latin, actually. Have you not had any Latin yet?” 

The stranger’s smile grew wider, as if James had said something amusing. He stood up from the bench, brushing invisible dust from his coat and pocketing the bit of newsprint. 

“Not a lot, I’m afraid. I do know some, but it seems my studies never turned towards the culinary side of things.” Past tense. Surely this kittenish young chap looked no more than twenty-five, and yet he spoke as if he’d finished his schooling in the Dark Ages. Hathaway shook his head. 

“I’ll leave you to your smoking, then. Thanks very much for your help.” The young man started off, crossing the wide stone path, towards the street. 

He’d only gone a few steps when Hathaway called out, “I’m James! By—by the way. James Hathaway!”

The young man turned slightly, and raised a hand in farewell. This time, his smile seemed a bit melancholy. 

“Morse!”


End file.
